Imbue
by NellietheMarvelous
Summary: Oneshot. No spoilers. Castle reflects on his inspiration. "He loved moments with her, however small. Lazy days spent in pajamas and lounging around with nowhere to be and nothing to do."


**Disclaimer: Would I be writing fanfic if I owned it? Didn't think so.**

**A/N: Okay so I took a break from finishing up some chapters for my Cub 'verse and this happened. I don't know how you guys will feel about it but I'm one of those people that when I'm reading, I'm basically lost in my head and completely blocked from reality. I think that's where this started. I really have no idea where it came from.**

**I wrote all of this on my phone so any typos, please point them out and I'll fix them. Text typing leaves a lot of room for typos.**

It started as it always did. Maybe a look or one simple word and now they were here, somehow content to just be. He loved moments with her, however small. Lazy days spent in pajamas and lounging around with nowhere to be and nothing to do.

She'd swear she was the type that liked being busy, loved being on her toes but he knew better. She was just as happy sprawled across their bed using the side of his stomach and part of his arm as a pillow with a book propped in her hands. Which is where she currently was. A novel he'd teased her for owning currently wrapped lovingly by those hands, fingers pulling gently at the pages as she turned to the next. He watched, his own digits stalled instead of typing. The laptop on his thighs becoming unimportant the moment she'd let out that little chuckle. He wondered what was amusing her, what had her lips curving and a brightness in her eyes.

She shifted against him, her unkempt hair tickled his arm and he was powerless. He couldn't have resisted if he'd tried. He closed his laptop, set it aside and she didn't even notice. Her attention never wavered from the book. She was submerged in another world, completely lost to him but he couldn't not watch her. He pulled his arm from under her head, she grumbled but settled right back down against him. Maybe it was the way he stroked over her hair that soothed her, or perhaps that only soothed him. The silk of it as it slid through his fingers a drug that could make even the most frustrating things seem obsolete.

She sighed, almost wearily and flipped another page. Not quite as gently as before. Something had her worried and he found it adorable. She felt things, let emotions rule her when she read. Her head and heart completely consumed by the printed words. He sometimes wished he had been around the very first time she'd read one of his novels. How had she reacted? He wanted to know. Wanted to hear every sigh, watch every twitch of her lips and furrow of her brow. But he couldn't go back in time.

He didn't want to stop her, didn't want to pull her away from the story she was clearly attached to. He dropped his hand from her hair, let it rest casually on her abdomen. Not even a flicker on her face, nothing but the quick scan of her eyes as she read. Her body tensed, something was happening and he was tempted to ask, to let her pull him in for the ride but he didn't.

He took a moment to admire her in their bed, shirt bunched from all her wiggling, her thighs bare, a pair of cotton panties taunting him from the raised hem. She wasn't trying to seduce, wasn't even aware of how irresistible she was to him in that moment. She wasn't aware of anything at all but whatever was happening in the world held beneath the cover of her book. Something good if he were to judge by the quirk of her lips, the way her muscles relaxed and she melted back into him.

She was the type of person that read with her whole body. Every muscle participated and when she abruptly rolled away from him, he had to just let her go. Said nothing at all when she propped herself up on an elbow, face in her palm and her brow furrowed. He could've left and she wouldn't have noticed. He didn't. He stayed as she lifted her shins from the bed, crossing her legs in the air behind her. He was slammed with the image of her. The complete youthfulness in her warred with the sensuality of her attire. She had him incapable of thought beyond the fact that this woman, this amazing ethereal being was his wife.

Yeah that still did it for him, had him smiling like he'd been handed the entire world to grasp in the palm of his hand. His fingers itched to touch and he settled for rubbing over the back of her thigh, his thumb brushing the hem of her panties. She hummed and he startled at the sound, so used to her being lost in her book.

But that was the only sign that she had any clue his hand was on her skin. And the quick drag of her eyes to his face as she turned the page. A second long glance that told him to behave. He did but only because he liked this. Loved seeing her so involved. It didn't hurt that he liked the softness of her skin, the way his ring contrasted the tan of her thighs. The weight of it on his finger was still new and he caught the way she twisted hers, mindlessly playing with it as she read.

He still couldn't believe they'd ended up here. Couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that she was his wife and he was her husband. His wife that liked coffee and reading in bed. The one who lounged in one of his old cotton tshirts and not much else at almost noon on a Saturday. The woman who strived for justice on a daily basis and lived and breathed her job.

And sometimes, sometimes she was the broken girl missing her mom and struggling with finding a balance but she was still pure strength and determination in his eyes. But most importantly she was the woman he loved.

He was staring too much, too long. His stomach rumbled and he knew he had to make the decision. He had to leave her with her book, let her live in a different world. But not without leaning into her, kissing her cheek, telling her he was going to make something for lunch. She hummed at him again as he pushed up from the bed and he knew she had no idea what he'd just said to her.

He had been through this before. He remembered the first time. When he had come home from a meeting with the publisher and found her lounging on the couch, wrapped in a throw with a book grasped in her hands. He had tried to talk to her, given up after she shrugged and made more than three noncommittal sounds. He'd showered, cooked dinner and was in the middle of pouring wine by the time she had put the book down. Surprise etched into her features when she saw that he was home.

When Kate read, she fully committed to it. He should have known. She gave everything her all.

He made sandwiches for lunch, nothing fancy. She was still buried in the story when he carried them into the bedroom. Barely stirred when he placed the plate in front of her. If she was hungry, she didn't show it. He finished both sandwiches by himself. All of the chips too.

He chose to leave her again, decided that if he planned to get any writing done, he couldn't be in the same room with her. Couldn't be distracted by the thin cotton stretched delectably over her rear or the way she occasionally let out a sigh.

He ended up in his office. Plopped in his chair and typing away as the words flowed. A couple hours ticked by easily. The quiet stretched on, interrupted only by the clack of the keys as Nikki took Rook on an adventure. He invested. He poured so much of himself into it. He knew how easily Kate got swept away by a good story and he understood. Because it was just as easy to get caught up in writing, in inventing something to captivate an audience the way his wife was currently captivated.

He was almost done, almost finished with another Nikki Heat novel and the excitement that raced through his veins kept him typing, made him forget about the woman in the other room. Nikki had his attention and she kept it. For that moment.

She kept him occupied until he felt someone staring at him. A throat clearing and when he looked up, the air left his lungs on a sharp sigh. Sucked out by just the sight of his detective, barefoot and leaning against the door frame. She still hadn't dressed, he assumed there was no point with it being so late. He didn't even know what time it was but when she smiled shyly, that was the last thing on his mind.

"Hey." Her cheeks were pink, her hair tossed up in a mess on top of her head. She was gorgeous.

"Hey." He answered back just as softly.

"I uh, sorry. I didn't mean to be reading quite so long."

He shook his head. Told her with just that gesture that she didn't need to be sorry and when she stepped across the threshold, he knew she was done reading. She'd decided she needed more than the comfort of a book and he was perfectly okay with that.

If he'd had any doubts, they would have vanished the second she draped herself over his lap, settling down against him. Arms wrapped around his neck and he was powerless to stop himself from holding her in place and accepting the soft lazy kiss she pressed against his mouth.

"How's the writing?" His skin tingled with her question. The heat of her lips dancing over his jaw.

"Almost done."

"You mean done, done?" Not quite but he was at the end of the last chapter.

"Well, I actually need your help with something." He knew that would get her attention. It did.

Her eyes curious and bright when she pulled back to tilt her head. He was the one that stole the kiss this time. Smudging her lips with his, quickly.

"I want you to read it. All of it. Mistakes and everything."

"Castle, I can wait till -"

"No, you can't because I want you to write the last paragraph." She stilled in his arms, her whole body tightening. He'd thrown her for a loop.

"What?" He ignored the question. Just kept their gazes locked and watched as it finally registered in her brain. That beautiful brilliant mind of hers. "You want me to write the end of your book?"

"Just a paragraph."

"I'm not a writer."

"You're good with words." She wouldn't have an argument for that one because it was true. And he wanted this. It had never crossed his mind until a few moments ago but now he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before.

She was his muse. The one he dedicated most of the books to and now, his wife. Without her there wouldn't be any books.

"Castle,"

"Please. I'll give you a writer's credit." The eyebrow wiggle made her smile and shake her head. He had her, he knew he did when her palms warmed his cheeks and her mouth pressed hotly over his. Not as soft as before. Her tongue sought his and her hips rocked. He tightened his grip on her, smoothing a hand up her spine to cup the back of her neck. She was so warm, so soft. Very distracting.

He'd have her typing in no time. He would help, guide her but he knew she could do it. He had never wanted to share his writing process with anyone, had never pictured letting somebody add in on his chapters but he would let her.

Just one paragraph. A few sentences to finish it up, tie it all together and he was giving that power to the woman in his lap.

"Why?" He loved her but that wasn't the answer. It was just the thought that came as easily as the way she pushed her nose against his.

Oh how he loved her.

"You let me play cop, thought I'd let you play writer this time."

It was her smile, pressed to his mouth as it widened that had his own forming. The whispered 'okay' that came next lost between them when his fingers skimmed up her thigh. She was done reading and he was done writing. It was time to find something else to do and she was on the top of his list.


End file.
